Death and the Single Supervillain
by RyuuACey
Summary: A meeting with an old acquaintance and an awkward discussion. The conversation Voldemort hopes he'll never have to endure.


Title: Death and the Single Supervillain  
Author: Ryuu-Acey  
Archive: Well, here. If you want it, ask.  
Summary: Short one-shot related to an unpleasant realization, and a meeting with old friends.  
Spoilers: OotP.  
Rating: K  
Disclaimer: Death is copyrighted by Terry Pratchett, who has a wonderful sense of humor and surely will not object to me borrowing the anthropomorphic personification of one of the universe's vital forces. One might be more worried about _Death_ taking offense, but I'm sure he likes the publicity. The other characters in this story are the property of JK Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else has their hands on a copy of the right pieces of paper. I hope no one will take this as any sort of copyright infringement, and if they do...well, I'll have a story to tell the grandkids.  
Originally posted: Notes: This is a silly little thing I wrote because I love Pratchett's Death, and cannot pass up an opportunity to use him in fiction. This will probably get me into trouble some day.  
Warnings: Implied death.  
Feedback: Always appreciated.

* * *

HELLO. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE?

"My name is Lord Voldemort," the wizard snapped back. He brushed dust from his robes before he looked up at the man (was he a man? He almost sounded male) who had spoken to him. It was important to appear to be unconcerned with whoever spoke to you.

AH. LORD VOLDEMORT. The voice, which seemed to project itself directly into Voldemort's mind without passing through his ears, fell silent for a moment. Voldemort was very aware of intense scrutiny, and then the voice spoke again. HAVE WE MET SOMEWHERE BEFORE?

"No," Voldemort replied quickly. A dim suspicion was beginning to form in his mind, and a certainty that he had met this man before.

NO, I'M SURE I'VE RUN INTO YOU BEFORE.

"You must be mistaken; now, I have to get going."

There was a pause. It was a very...unmistakable pause. It very clearly gave a message, namely, you may think you have to get going, but what you mean is that you're going to stay right here.

THINGS TO DO, PLACES TO BE? ABOUT THAT...

"No, I've really got to get going. I was just in a wizarding duel, and that really takes it out of you."

FUNNY YOU SHOULD USE THAT _PARTICULAR_ PHRASE, the voice said. The source stepped forward, revealing a hooded figure holding a...very long wand--more of a staff, really.

Yes, a staff.

The figure stepped closer, bending over to examine Voldemort. ARE YOU SURE WE'VE NEVER MET? I HAVE A VERY GOOD MEMORY FOR FACES.

"Certain," Voldemort growled back. "Now, if I'm done here--"

MR...MORT, WHAT WE HAVE HERE IS A BASIC MISUNDERSTANDING OF YOUR SITUATION.

"No," Voldemort replied, pulling his wand from his robes, "What we have here is a basic underestimation of your opponent. _Avada Kedavra!_"

Green light flashed, illuminating an endless plain of gray. The tall figure looked down at himself, and then back up at Voldemort. WHAT DID YOU--?

Suddenly, infinite depths of blue became more focused; if the figure had been human, his eyes would have narrowed. But as things went, Voldemort felt some depthless malice suddenly directed at him.

YOU DARED--? YOU EVEN DARED THINK THAT WOULD HAVE WORKED? I DON'T KNOW WHETHER TO BE AMUSED OR ENRAGED, VOLDE--

The figure's eyes suddenly widened, and Voldemort knew it was over.

YOU! It stepped forward, and light reflected off of the air around his staff. Voldemort cut back a terrified hiss when he realized what he'd seen. The blade was so infinitely sharp it was nearly invisible. The figure raised his scythe above his head. I REMEMBER YOU, TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. THAT CURSE SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU.

"I'd taken precautions!" Voldemort shouted. "That doesn't mean I cheated you!"

WITHOUT A BODY, YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED.

"The magic that gave me a body is old; it is nearly as old as you."

YOU RESURRECTED YOURSELF. THAT CANNOT BE TOLERATED.

"Surely there are men who have tried to escape you before."

YES, THERE ARE. IF I BELIEVE IT TO BE...RIGHT, I HAVE ALLOWED IT. BUT WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THIS TIME? WHAT HAVE YOU ACCOMPLISHED? TELL ME, TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE, ONE REAL THING YOU HAVE ACCOMPLISHED IN LIFE, AND I WILL LEAVE YOU.

Voldemort tried to think, to focus his mind with that...thing staring at him. Suddenly, something connected in Voldemort's mind. "You left the boy! He would have died, but you let him go!"

AND WHAT HAS HE DONE WITH HIS TIME? HE HAS REDEEMED THE WRONGED. HE HAS REACHED OUT TO THE WEAK. HE HAS SOUGHT TO MAKE MEANING OF HIS LIFE AND RECONCILE MURDER WITH HIS ESSENTIALLY GOOD NATURE. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

Voldemort did not answer, and Death's ever-grinning skull moved closer to him.

Suddenly, Death straightened. HOWEVER, I AM GENEROUS. YOU HAVE GIVEN MANY THINGS TO OTHERS. I THINK IT IS HIGH TIME YOU GOT THEM BACK.

"I have never given another human being anything," Voldemort replied.

NO. YOU HAVE GIVEN THEM FEAR FOR THEIR LIVES, THEIR LOVED ONES, THEIR FUTURE. YOU HAVE GIVEN THEM HATRED AND PREJUDICE. YOU HAVE GIVEN THEM SORROW AND DESPAIR. AND I GIVE THEM ALL BACK TO YOU. YOU SEE, TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE, THERE ARE SOME PEOPLE WHO ARE WAITING FOR YOU. YOU MIGHT EVEN SAY THEY'RE _DYING_ TO SEE YOU.

* * *

He stumbled on another rock, falling to the rough ground of the endless desert. For too long he'd wandered, a slave to his own inadequacies, hearing the voices of his ancestors, mocking the life he'd chosen for himself.

He rested there, gasping into the ground, wishing for just a single good thing to happen. Anything but this wasteland, these thoughts...

HELLO.

He looked up to meet two pinpoints of blue within endless depths of black. The skeletal face appeared (if it were possible) perplexed. A bony hand lifted a small crystal egg timer, shaking it carefully. The few grains of sand at the bottom jiggled about, while the great mass at the top sat, frozen.

ARE YOU LOST? The robed figure stood to its full, impressive height. YOU SEE, I AM QUITE BUSY, BUT I CAN'T HAVE PEOPLE LIKE YOU JUST WANDERING AROUND THE DESERT. IT'S UNTIDY.

The figure tilted its head at him, but he couldn't quite understand what was happening. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. But...

But he'd always run with his chances, no matter how unlikely they'd seemed.

"Yes, I'm lost. I don't suppose you have a way for me to get back--?"

THE WAY IS NOT EASY. BUT...THERE ARE WAYS TO MAKE IT EASIER. HERE. He caught something the creature threw to him; it was a glittering blue sphere, like a prophecy trapped forever in glass. THE MAN I TOOK THIS FROM SHOULD NOT NEED IT ANYMORE.

"What is it?"

For a moment, the expressionless skull looked almost...smug. One eye-light flickered, almost like a wink. IT IS A SECOND CHANCE.

"A second--so you _are--!_"

I GAVE YOU A SECOND CHANCE. DO NOT WASTE IT. BECAUSE NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, THERE WILL BE A DAY WHEN YOU RUN OUT OF SECOND CHANCES, AND I WILL BE THERE, WAITING FOR YOU.

The hooded figure turned to leave, but he shouted after it, feeling more than a little lost. "Wait! Why did you do this for me? What have I done to deserve this?"

NOTHING. He stepped back, startled. Never had he heard an entire life dismissed so casually, not as being worthless, but as having no importance. DO NOT THINK LIKE THAT. YOUR LIFE IS INFINITELY PRECIOUS, LIKE ALL LIFE. IT IS TRUE, YOU HAVE DONE NOTHING TO DESERVE SUCH A PRECIOUS GIFT. BUT YOU ALSO DID NOTHING TO DESERVE YOUR DEATH. THE UNIVERSE IS ARBITRARY. I MAY GIVE THESE GIFTS WHERE I SEE FIT, AND ACCEPT THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY CHOICES, AS MUST YOU. GOODBYE, SIRIUS BLACK, AND GOOD LUCK.

"Wait!" He screamed after the figure, raising his fists in the air. "What do I have to do? What do you want me to do? How can I make myself worthy of this?" But the specter of Death walked away, eventually vanishing into the winds of the desert, giving no answer.

He looked down at the sphere, and it began to glow. So what? Was he supposed to just muddle things through? Struggle through on his own?

He laughed, shaking his head. What else could he expect from that creature but riddles? And somehow, he felt it would not be that hard to make his remaining life worth something. There were, after all, people waiting for him.

* * *

"I still don't understand why you did it, Master." A withered man dressed in servant's clothes sat at a small, wooden table, across from the robed skeleton. The table was covered by a chessboard, with the pieces laid out in arbitrary patterns. Occasionally, the skeleton would move one of them, as if contemplating something.

I CANNOT HAVE PEOPLE ENTERING MY REALM EXCEPT THROUGH THE PROPER CHANNELS, the skeleton replied.

"Other people have passed through that Veil, and you let them remain here."

THEY HAD RESIGNED THEMSELVES TO THIS FATE. I MAY NOT DENY MAN A FATE HE HAS ACCEPTED.

"You're not normally one to give people a _choice_ in the matter, Master. Why did you do it, really?" The skeleton looked up, and the infinite blue focused on his servant. The man shifted uncomfortably; there was something about staring Death in the face that made you remember by exactly whose grace you still had an existence.

SOMETIMES, I FIND THE WAY OF THE WORLD TOO ARBITRARY. THE CHILD HAS SEEN TOO MUCH DEATH IN HIS TIME. AND THE OTHER TOO MUCH SORROW. SOMETIMES...I TRY TO GIVE SOMETHING BACK.

And that was that. So what if one man received a second chance, and another did not? In the end, it was the same to him. After all, eventually, everyone ran out of second chances.

And when that time came, he would be there, waiting. And watching. As he had always done.

End.


End file.
